


The House At 1313 Maple Street

by BradyGirl_12



Category: Public Enemies (2009)
Genre: Blood, Challenge Response, Challenges, Community: Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Challenges, Drama, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Holidays, Horror, M/M, Male Slash, Mystery, Prompt Fic, References to Suicide, Romance, Slash, Spirits, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decaying old house in a genteel Chicago neighborhood is the site of many strange and disturbing happenings.  Special Agent Melvin Purvis is sent to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Allure

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: (Ch. 2 & 4: Mention of suicide, Ch. 6: Brief description of hanging victim, Ch. 7 violence, 8: aftermath of violence)  
> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: September 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, October 4, 13, 14, 2010  
> Original LJ Dates Of Posting: October 21, 24, 26, 30, November 6, 6, 15, 26, 2010  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 771 + 1143 + 769 + 1535 + 464 + 1627 + 2293 + 830 (Total: 9429)  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Written for my [2010 Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Fic/Art Halloween Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/guns_fedoras/72253.html). :)  
> All chapters can be found [here.](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/553277.html)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beat cop Joey O’Grady is lured into the House at 1313 Maple Street.

_Leaves skitter  
And dance  
Along the street,  
Light fading  
And trees groaning  
As gates creak._

_Beware the house  
On Maple Street._

  


**Allison Long  
"The House On Maple Street"  
1926 C.E.**

Officer Joey O’Grady twirled his billy club as he walked his beat on the North Side of Chicago. The townhouses and single-family homes were neat and well-kept, mostly middle-class families and singles living here. He was a third-year policeman and already had a plum assignment. He was called one of the best and brightest.

He slowed down as he approached 1313 Maple Street. The rusty iron gates were the centerpiece of the brick wall that surrounded the Victorian house. The dark-blue paint was fading, the shutters crooked and the front yard was overgrown with weeds. No one had lived here for years.

Joey shivered as he did every time he had to pass by this house. Naturally, people claimed it was haunted.

He paused at the gates, staring at the house. The Stanford family had lived here, and Regenia Stanford had snapped one night in 1914, stabbing her husband and his younger brother to death. This wealthy, respectable family had been destroyed in one night.

_“But that’s not the only evil thing that ever happened in there. The whole house is evil. Regenia Stanford died mad as a hatter in an insane asylum, but the whole family was weird for generations.”_

Joey recalled the words of Mrs. Angie Marinetti, the co-proprietor of Marinetti’s Market. The brown-haired woman knew the history of the neighborhood in addition to all the current goings-on. She was an invaluable source of information. She had recalled other gruesome happenings, such as suicides and strange deaths that could easily have been murders, in her opinion.

Joey took off his cap, running his hand through thick red hair. He didn’t like pomade, but he’d have to get a haircut soon, at least. He’d barely made the height requirements for the Academy and was the epitome of the ‘scrappy Irishman’. 

He was _still_ spooked.

He was about to turn away when he saw a light flicker in an upstairs window. Frowning, he watched it flicker, then heard a cry. 

Despite his own fears, Joey opened the gates and rushed in, hurrying up the cracked sidewalk and sagging veranda. The wood was rotted, and he slowed down enough to keep from crashing through the boards.

He tried the doorknob, and the oak door easily opened, creaking loudly. The doorknocker was a strange face, almost a gargoyle, very artistic but a little creepy.

The foyer was large, a grand staircase winding up to the second floor. The huge chandelier was festooned with cobwebs, some of the crystals missing. A round pier table lay against the wall on its side, one leg missing, and the flocked wallpaper was peeling. Small alcoves were empty, pillars that once held busts of marble tilted and broken. A rusty suit of armor stood in one large alcove. The parquet floor was scratched and broken.

“Hello?” Joey called, his voice echoing. Nervously licking his lips, he unbuttoned the flap of his holster, keeping his hand close to his gun. 

“Hello?” he called again. The silence was eerie. He decided to go upstairs, since he’d seen the light up there.

Heart pounding, Joey started up the grand staircase, shivering as a cold draft brushed by him. Moonlight and his flashlight helped him navigate, but it was still too dark for his taste.

He brushed at cobwebs as he went down the hall, old portraits of men and women in stiff-necked Victorian poses staring out disapprovingly from between gilt frames dark with grime.

Joey was going to call out again but decided against it. He gripped his flashlight tighter as his hand was sweating profusely.

Was that groaning he heard? He strained to listen, but heard nothing else. Chewing his lip, he stood uncertainly in the hallway.

A soft thump turned his head around. He opened the door into a bedroom that was as dilapidated as the rest of the house. The bed was a four-poster, the green-and-gold spread mildewed, dust coating the wood. The dresser and rocking chair were also coated in dust. Pictures on the walls of landscapes hung askew, giving the room a crazy, tilted appearance.

 _Nothing. Did I imagine that light? Maybe moonlight._ Green eyes darted around the room. _But I heard a cry. And there were noises in this house._ Joey shook his head. _Got ahold of yourself, O’Grady._

He turned to face the doorway, shock spreading across his face as cold seeped into his bones, his mouth opening in a soundless scream...


	2. Dancing Down The Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel is assigned to investigate the House at 1313 Maple Street.

_"The whole house is evil."_

  


**Angie Marinetti  
1934 C.E.**

Mel lazily rolled over and gave Johnny a kiss, a tingle going through his body as he was soundly kissed back. Mel felt relaxed and happy, a state of mind that was more a part of his life now after falling in love with Public Enemy Number One. That countered the stress of his job and worry over Johnny, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

”Mmm, cantcha stay for a few more minutes, Sunshine?”

Mel smiled. “I can’t be late for work, love. Sets a bad example.”

Johnny raised his hand, brushing a strand of his lover’s dark hair out of his eyes. “Will I see you tonight?” 

“Unless something comes up. You gangsters keep the Dillinger Squad hoppin’.”

Johnny laughed. “Good. I’ll see you tonight, sugar.”

“You bet, sweetheart.”

Mel leaned down for another kiss as they both chuckled.

& & & & & &

Mel nodded to Doris as he walked toward his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Purvis.”

“Good morning, Doris.”

The Squad was busy chasing down leads, only half the agents in the office. Mel poured himself a cup of coffee and settled behind his desk, keeping his door ajar. He and Johnny had enjoyed a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Johnny was living in a house separate from his gang, liking the privacy for himself and Mel. 

Mel smiled as he looked down at his cup. The white ceramic mug was emblazoned with the skyline of Chicago, a gift from Johnny.

_“I wanted to give you World’s Greatest Lover, but you know…”_

Mel remembered the sparkle in Johnny’s eyes that day. Feeling warmed, he got to work.

& & & & & &

“Agent Purvis?”

Mel looked up at the man standing in the doorway of his office. He was six feet tall, a broad-shouldered man in an expensive double-breasted suit, his gray hair slicked back. His face was ruddy, his blue eyes bright. 

“Yes? How may I help you?”

“I’m Alderman Thomas McCready.”

“Hello.” Mel rose to shake McCready’s hand. It was a big hand, strong and firm. “Have a seat.”

The politician sat down, his movements nervous. “Agent Purvis, one of the brightest policemen on the force was found yesterday in an old house on Maple Street. He was…”  
McCready looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “…found insane.”

Mel raised an eyebrow. “I…I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. McCready, but what does that have to do with the Dillinger Squad?”

“Director Hoover said the Bureau would cooperate. You see, Officer Joseph O’Grady is the son of my best friend. I want you to investigate this house.”

Confused, Mel asked, “Suh? What’s the house have to do with anything?” 

“It’s haunted.”

& & & & & &

The phone rang and Mel snatched it up. “Agent Purvis, Bureau of Investigation, Dillinger Squad.”

_“Hello, Sunshine.”_

“Johnny!” Mel was glad his office door was closed. “Why are you calling?”

_“Oh, just wanted to ask: steak or roast beef tonight?”_

Mel chuckled. “Steak.”

_“Great. I’ll throw in baked potatoes and green beans. Got any hot leads?”_

“No, Smarty Pants. I did pick up a new assignment. A favor to an alderman.”

_“What kind of favor?”_

“A strange case. A patrolman was found in an old, abandoned house. They had to take him to Collinwood Asylum. Poor guy was gibbering and totally lost to the world.”

_“What house?"_

“Umm…I’ve got the address here…1313 Maple Street.” A hiss of breath sounded over the phone. “What’s wrong?”

_“Mel, that house is haunted.”_

“He said that but…”

_“Mel, honey, that house is well-known to everyone who lives in Chicago or in the county.”_

“Since when do you believe in haunted houses?”

_“Hey, I’ve seen some weird things in my time.”_

“Well, Jayee said I’d personally investigate this case. I’m going over right now.”

_“Mel, there have been murders in that house…”_

“Yes, I know. Regenia Stanford stabbed her fiance and her brother to death in 1914.”

 _“Did you know that there was a suicide there in the 19th century? Regenia’s mother Rose was found hanging from the old oak tree in the backyard, and there was a drowning and possible poisoning in earlier generations.”_

Mel shivered. “Sounds like something out of a Eugene O’Neill play.”

_“Or a James Whale movie. And that’s not all. People have gone in there and disappeared, or run out screaming about ghosts and monsters.”_

“Why hasn’t the city torn the place down?”

_“Somethin’ about the estate bein’ tied up. Mel, if you have to go, bring someone, Carter or Charles.”_

“I can’t. They’re out running down a lead on your buddy, Baby Face Nelson.”

“He’s not my buddy.”

“I know.” Mel thickened his drawl. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be careful. It’ll be broad daylight.”

_“You’d **better** be careful, Sunshine.”_

“I love you, too. See you tonight. Oh, yes, Doris?”

His secretary had poked her head in. “You have that meeting with the mayor in a half hour.”

“Thank you.” After Doris left, Mel said, “Change of plans, honey. I have a meeting this afternoon so I’ll have to hit the Stanford house later. I’ll call when I’m through so you can start dinner. Love you, darlin’.”

_“Love you, too.”_

Mel hung up the phone, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind.

& & & & & &

Darkness came early to Chicago in October. Mel turned up the collar of his dark-blue greatcoat against the wind, keeping one hand on his fedora as he walked briskly down the street. His car was being repaired so he’d taken a streetcar from the office.

The day had started out clear and crisp with blue skies but had clouded over as dusk approached, the temperature dropping several degrees. Gusts of wind sent fallen leaves dancing in little arcs down the street as Mel passed respectable-looking houses and townhouses, lights shining in their windows, coziness against the cold. It was easy enough to spot No. 1313. 

Mel stood outside the rusting iron gates for several minutes, a shiver running down his spine. There was no coziness here. The Victorian house was shabby and rundown, and did not look welcoming at all. Shaking his head, he resolutely pushed the gates open and walked down the cracked sidewalk.

Mel carefully walked up the sagging steps to the veranda, standing in front of the door. He winced at the ugly doorknocker, nerves on edge.

_Johnny says I need to relax more. I do, as long as I’m with him._

Mel didn’t like the look of the house or the creepy feeling he was getting.

_Well, better get on with it, or Jayee will have my head on a platter._

Mel reached out for the doorknob just as a hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.


	3. Speak Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House at 1313 Maple Street lives for the shadows.

_Cobwebs_  
_And rusted iron,_  
_Dust_  
_Coating all._

_Creaks_  
_And moans,_  
_Shadows_  
_And rotted wood._

_A house_  
_Abandoned_  
_Is_  
_A sad thing._

_A house_  
_Of darkness_  
_Is_  
_Horror._

**Allison Long**  
**"The House On Maple Street"**  
**1926 C.E.**

Mel yelped as he jumped.

“Just me, sugar,” an amused voice drawled into his ear.

Mel whirled, clutching his chest. “Johnny! Don’t _do_ that! You scared me out of a year’s growth!”

Johnny smirked as he lazily chewed his gum. “Sorry, darlin’.” He kissed Mel, who calmed at his touch. “Kind of a spooky joint, huh?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you go it alone, Sunshine.” He was dressed as if ready to rob a bank in his natty fedora and greatcoat.

Mel saw the concern in Johnny’s eyes and was warmed by it. “Well, I can’t say I don’t mind the company.” 

Johnny smiled and squeezed Mel’s hand. He kept hold of it as Mel opened the door.

They stepped inside the foyer, seeing the faded elegance as Joey had observed before. Mel slipped a flashlight out of his coat pocket as Johnny did the same. It was growing dark fast, and this house lived in the shadows.

“I feel like Lamont Cranston,” muttered Mel as Johnny chuckled.

“ _’Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!’_ ” the gangster smirked.

Mel threw him a dirty look but only got more laughter from his companion. They unclasped hands but stayed close together.

It was silent in the house, and the men took a turn to the right, ending up in the kitchen. The old-fashioned iron stove was still there, too heavy for thieves to cart away. The pump by the sink was rusty, and everything was coated in dust. A calendar from 1914 hung crookedly on the wall.

“Officer O’Grady was found in a room upstairs,” Mel said.

“Then let’s check it out.” Johnny playfully slipped his hand into Mel’s again.

They got so little opportunity to do such a simple thing, and could never do it in public, so they grabbed the chance when they could. Besides, the house was spooking them a little, even if neither one spoke it aloud.

Mel and Johnny headed up the grand staircase, their shoes creaking on the steps.

The second floor corridor was lined with ancestral portraits, Mel shivering a little. He’d seen portraits like this in homes in South Carolina, musty old reminders of family history as old mansions moldered and remained trapped in the past. He admired history and legacies, but the stern pictures of the long-dead could send a shiver down his spine, or at least this group could.

“This room,” he said quietly, opening the door to a bedroom at the end of the hall.

The room was as musty as the rest of the house, eerie shadows playing on the walls from the flashlights.

“What could have frightened O’Grady so much?” Johnny murmured.

“I don’t know,” Mel answered just as softly. For whatever reason, he was reluctant to speak in a normal voice, too.

He pulled his coat tighter around him, breaking contact with Johnny. His lover played his light over the dusty bureau.

Mel shivered again. _I thought my Southern blood had grown accustomed to Northern autumn._ It was two days before Halloween, something that made the house even eerier. _Oh, that’s silly. It’s just a date on the calendar._ He rubbed his face. If only he believed that!

Johnny’s face was shadowed as his light flashed on the bed next.

“Just musty ‘n’ dusty, Sunshine.”

Mel could hear the strain in his lover’s voice. So Johnny was feeling the spookiness, too! That made Mel feel a little better. It wasn’t just his imagination.

Mel froze as he heard noises down the hall. Was that moaning?

Johnny snapped his head around, their eyes meeting in the gloom.

Suddenly, Mel felt overwhelmed with the urge to _get out…now!_ He turned as his breathing shortened, only turning back to grab Johnny’s hand.

“Let’s get out of here!”

Johnny didn’t object as they rushed out of the bedroom, hearts racing as they barreled down the hall and grand staircase, never stopping their headlong dash until they cleared the gates and were standing on the sidewalk, taking heaving breaths as their hands remained in a crushing grip.

“What the hell!” said Johnny.

“I don’t know.” Mel looked back at the house as if he half-expected to see it creeping up on them. “Let’s go home.”

Johnny nodded, both men hurrying down the street and only unlocking hands when they reached the streetcar stop.


	4. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel and Carter go to Collinwood Asylum to visit the victim of the House at 1313 Maple Street.

_Fragments break  
And swirl,  
Colors bright  
Unfurl._

_Try and grasp  
Sounds and   
Sights,  
Try and grasp  
Dancing lights._

_Taste the moon,  
Taste the sun,  
Taste the terror,  
When all is done._

  


**Tom Black  
"The Taste Of Madness"   
1926 C.E.**

The smell of the steaks sizzling was heavenly. Once freed of the oppressive house on Maple Street, Mel’s appetite had come roaring back, and Johnny felt the same way. They’d already chomped through an apple apiece and were impatient for dinner to be ready.

Johnny was chopping up tomatoes for a garden salad, Mel diligently washing the lettuce. The baked potatoes were in the oven and the green beans were simmering in a pot on the stove.

Neither man had spoken on the streetcar, Johnny keeping his fedora low, but no one had even thrown him a glance.

Back at the house, Mel had pitched in with dinner. He lost himself in the minutiae of meal preparation, but the events of early evening were crowding in on him.

Johnny laid down his knife. “Poor guy.”

“Huh?”

“Poor Joe O’Grady. Surely he’d been just as scared as we were, but he was all alone.” 

“What was that?”

“Damned if I know.” Johnny looked at him. “It’s probably best to just leave that house be. Hopefully the kid will snap out of what’s ailin’ him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He wasn’t sure if he could. Not after earlier that evening at _Marinetti’s Market…_

& & & & & &

 _The smell of fresh produce greeted Mel as he walked into the market, followed by Johnny wearing dark glasses and low fedora. Mel had given up trying to convince his notorious lover to lay low. Johnny liked to take risks._

_Mel picked up an apple. “Fresh,” he murmured._

_“Fresh from the orchards outside Chicago,” said a cheerful albeit loud female voice. “Hello, Mr. Dalton.”_

_Johnny smiled at the rotound woman behind the counter. Middle-aged, her dark-brown hair with peppered gray was fashionably-coiffed, her green dress covered by an apron with the market’s name on it. Mel could smell spices: oregeno, paprika, and something else. Rosemary?_

_“Well, now, that’s good to hear,” said Mel. He put six apples in a basket that Johnny took from a stack._

_He added a fresh head of lettuce, a cucumber, and four large beefsteak tomatoes. He saw boxes of grape tomatoes and added one, rewarded by Johnny’s smile. His companion loved to eat them as a snack. After years of prison food, fresh fruit and vegetables were a king’s feast._

_Johnny kept browsing while Mel brought the basket to the cash register._

_“New to the neighborhood?”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

_Angie Martinetti was gregarious and engaging, perfect for making people feel a personalized sense of service._

_“This is a fine neighborhood. Have you seen any of it?”_

_“Oh, yes. Fine houses.”_

_“Except for 1313 Maple Street.” She rang up the purchases._

_“Um, yes.”_

_“Terrible eyesore, that old house. Young Regenia Stanford killed her husband and his brother one cold October night in 1914. Stabbed ‘em with a carving knife over and over.”_

_“Terrible.”_

_“Yes.” She rang up the total. “And then there was the suicide in 1901. Regenia and Randolph’s mother, Rose, hanged herself from the old oak tree in the backyard.”_

_“How awful!” Mel felt sad and nervous as Angie kept up her recitation, relishing imparting knowledge to someone who hadn’t heard her spiel before._

_Angie nodded. “There were suspicious deaths that occurred in that house, too.” She started packing Mel’s purchases into a paper sack. “There was a drowning in 1886 that the rumor spread may not have been accidental. Rose’s mother Lily was supposed to have been carrying on an affair and her husband was the prime suspect, but nothing was ever proved, just like the death of Rose’s grandfather Hiram in 1863, supposedly of grief over his son Jeremiah being killed at Gettysburg, but the whispers were about poisoning.”_

_“My goodness, it sounds positively Gothic.” Mel could feel Johnny’s presence close by._

_“Why, it does, doesn’t it?” Angie looked pleased at the notion._

_Mel considered how much of his native South fit that description. Yes, he surely knew Gothic._

_“Thank you, ma’am.”_

& & & & & &

Once the food was ready, the two men ate in the dining room, enjoying each other’s company. They had to snatch what time they could, considering their peculiar situation.

Mel appreciated the red wine Johnny served. It was no fancy French vintage but a good, solid California wine. The West Coast couldn’t compete with France, but maybe someday…

“Are you through with this assignment?” Johnny held his own wineglass.

”Hopefully so, but Jayee will probably want follow-up since he’s helping out an influential alderman.”

Johnny frowned. “Let him toady to the mucky-mucks. Why do you have to do his dirty work?”

“Because I am the Director’s favorite,” Mel drawled, sipping his wine.

Johnny’s frown developed into a scowl. “You’re _my_ favorite, and don’t you forget it.”

Mel smiled as he said, “Yes, dear,” Johnny rolling his eyes.

& & & & & &

And that night, Johnny showed Mel just how much he considered the Southerner to be his favorite.

& & & & & &

The next morning, Mel had reason to remember Johnny’s annoyance with Hoover. After a phone call from his boss, Mel found himself at the front gates of Collinwood Asylum, grateful that Carter Baum had practically invited himself along. His fellow agent sat next to him in his beloved Pierce Arrow, which he drove through the gates once he was waved on in by the security guard, who had checked by phone with the Asylum Director’s office.

Mel parked in the visitors’ lot, he and Carter walking up the front steps of the administrative building. They reluctantly surrendered their handguns and met Dr. Steven Cawley, a dapper, balding man who smoked a pipe and possessed a soothing voice. Warm, brown eyes regarded the agents.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, Officer O’Grady doesn’t respond to us. He’s lost in a world of terror.”

“Sorry to hear that, suh,” said Mel. “However, Director Hoover asks that I see him.”

“Very well.” Cawley shrugged on a coat and hat and led them outside. “It’s only a short walk to Ward A, gentlemen.”

“The security is impressive here,” Carter observed.

“Thank you, though it’s light compared to Ashecliffe Asylum on Shutter Island.” 

“Shutter Island?”

Cawley nodded. “The institution is in the Boston Harbor Island chain. It houses the most dangerous of the criminally-insane.”

Carter shivered. “Sounds like a tough place to work, Doctor.”

“Ah, but a supremely challenging one. I hope to secure a position there someday. However, this job is certainly very challenging. Officer O’Grady will take every skill we have to bring him back, if ever.”

Mel and Carter exchanged an uneasy look.

Cawley led them down a dark hallway. The buildings had been built during the Victorian era, so there was none of the clean, sleek lines of Art Deco design. Still, the Victorian Gothic architecture seemed to fit this place.

Dr. Cawley opened a door at the end of the hall and walked in first, the agents close behind him.

In the corner of the room, away from the cot, crouched a young man dressed in a blue denim shirt and jeans, his feet clad in blue slippers.

He was contorted in on himself, arms twisted around as his hands tangled in his red hair. His green eyes were wild as he stared off into the distance.

Mel’s heart sank. Cawley was right. They would never get anything out of the young Officer O’Grady.

He could see Carter’s dismay and pity. Cawley turned to him.

“You may ask your questions, Agent Purvis.”

Mel sighed. “He was found like this? No change?”

“None.”

Mel squatted down in front of the terrified man. “Nothing will hurt you, Joey,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”

Joey whimpered and tried to push himself further into the corner. Carter hovered just behind Mel.

Mel saw the fear, and his heart went out to this ill man. What must it be like, to be so terrified that you were lost in your own mind?

& & & & & &

“So the poor kid’s out of it, huh?”

Mel nodded as Johnny handed him a bottle of beer. “Whatever he saw in that house burned into his mind.” He used the church key and twisted off the cap.

“Too bad,” Johnny said, genuine regret in his voice as he drank from his bottle.

“Yeah.”

“Well, at least that assignment’s over. Hoover can’t expect you to find out anything when your only witness can’t even remember his own name.”

Mel mumbled his agreement.

& & & & & &

As Mel rested in Johnny’s arms in bed, the silvery moonlight dancing across the bedroom, his nerves didn’t allow him to sleep.

He couldn’t tell Johnny that Jayee had ordered him to return to that house tomorrow night with one of the agents completely loyal to Hoover: Doc or Rienecke, for godsakes. Men he didn’t trust like Carter or Charles…or Johnny. 

So tomorrow, on Halloween, he was going back to the house at 1313 Maple Street. 

Alone.


	5. Thunder 'N' Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm begins to brew.

_When the leaves blow,  
And the trees moan,  
Then you know:  
Time to run!_

  


**Sally Truehart  
"Spooky Poems   
For Halloween"   
1931 C.E.**

The wind moaned through the trees, and Mel was certain that he could hear moans throughout the house. Shivering, he stood on the sagging veranda in front of the oak door with the ugly doorknocker and jammed his hands into his coat pockets. He wasn’t sure if he was better off alone or not. Harold Rienecke had suddenly gotten an upset stomach when he’d learned of their destination. Or it could have been the four hot dogs loaded with sauerkraut he’d wolfed down for lunch.

_Maybe alone is better._

He still didn’t like it. He glanced around and saw the tree branches bending in the wind, leaves skittering along the sidewalk sounding like small feet scurrying. The clouds scudded across the full moon. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the wind picked up. A storm was on the way.

_Perfect._

Mel sighed and turned back to the door. On top of everything else, it was Halloween. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the doorknob.

& & & & & &

Doris ripped the letter out of her typewriter. She did _not_ like this.

She glanced around the empty squadroom as thunder rumbled outside the window. Everyone not out chasing a hot lead had gone home early for holiday plans. Costume parties were always big on this night.

_And what is Mel doing? Going to some haunted house because our esteemed Director wants to score political points!_

If Charles, Carter, or Sam were in town, any of them would have gone with Mel. Now he had to go alone!

Many would scoff at the notion of a haunted house, but Doris had seen some weird things in her time. Aunt Mahalia had told her some strange stories.

_And Mel was shaken by that first visit and seeing that poor soul in the asylum. He doesn’t want to go back there._

She jumped at a flash of lightning. Frustrated, Doris took the completed letter and went into Mel’s office, laying it on her boss’ desk. The phone rang and she picked up the handset. 

_“Mel, where are you?”_

She could hear the frustrated concern in the speaker’s voice. “Hi, Johnny.”

_“Doris, that you, darlin’?”_

“That’s right. Mel was supposed to meet you?”

_“Yeah, we were havin’ a little Halloween get-together and he was supposed to be here by now.”_

“He was ordered back to the Stanford house.”

Silence, then a curse flew over the line. _“Sorry, darlin’.”_

“Perfectly okay.”

_“I gotta go, honey.”_

“You bet. Oh, Johnny?”

_“Yes?”_

“Hurry.”

_“You bet.”_

Doris replaced the handset as thunder crashed and the room lit up with lightning.


	6. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House shows its true colors.

_Whispers,  
Screams,  
Darkness,  
Dreams._

  


**Cecilia Masters  
"The Dark Corners   
Of The Mind"   
1929 C.E.**

Mel started to turn the knob of the front door. 

“Now, darlin’, you wouldn’t go back into that house without me, wouldja?”

Mel jumped and whirled. “Johnny, damn you!” He frowned as Johnny lazily traced a finger along his cheek, noticing his gang on the walkway. Red popped gum, resting an arm on Homer’s shoulder. Pete and Charles looked amused.

“Safety in numbers, sugar.”

Mel was happy to see Johnny, and the gang as well. “Let’s go, then.”

“Right with ya, Sunshine.” Johnny took Mel’s hand.

Mel smiled, then opened the door.

“Wow, some joint,” said Homer, craning his neck as he looked around the foyer. 

“Wow, that chandelier looks like it’d be worth a pretty penny,” said Pete.

“What are we lookin’ for?” Red asked.

“Anything unusual,” answered Mel. “Did Johnny tell you what happened to Officer O’Grady?”

“Yeah,” Homer shivered. “Poor guy got really scared, huh?”

“Yes, and the authorities want to find out what happened.” 

“Meanin’ Hoover.”

“Yes.”

Homer was going to say something else but Red nudged him in the ribs.

“Let’s split up into pairs,” Johnny said. “We can cover more of the house.” He took out a flashlight and the others did, too. Thunder rumbled closer, and wind gusted, shutters banging against the house.

The men moved out, Pete and Charles heading toward the right of the staircase, Red and Homer going to the left, Mel and Johnny ascending the staircase.

& & & & & &

Charles grimaced at the dilapidated condition of the kitchen, looking at the cobwebs and dirt and rust. “Whatta shame.”

“Huh?” asked Pete, his tall shadow flickering on the walls in the light from their flashlights.

“This place. Got some nice stuff.”

“The chandelier was good. This place has a rusting pump and stove.”

“Yeah, but this stove is vintage Victorian. Might bring some bucks on the antique market.”

“For an old stove?” Pete scoffed. “Nothin’ special about that. My grandmother cooked on one of these monsters.”

“I dunno, Pete, antiques are a big business nowadays.”

“Colonial stuff moves, not Victorian.”

“Victorian does, too.”

A thump interrupted the argument. They looked at each other, then Pete pointed to the pantry and Charles nodded. They drew their guns and Pete yanked open the door.

Both men gasped as a flash of lightning illuminated the room.

& & & & & &

Homer jumped at the flash of lightning and grabbed Red’s hand, the bigger man grinning. He affectionately squeezed his lover's hand.

The dining room was decayed splendor, the heavy mahogany furniture layered in dust, and the chandelier hanging over the table was in the same condition as the one in the foyer. The eeriest part were two candles in their holders festooned with cobwebs, like two sentinels standing silent and spooky.

 _You’re getting’ poetic in your old age, Hamilton._ He smirked. _Bet Mel would know some real poetry. He sure classes things up. Johnny did real good picking him._

He and Homer walked to the parlor. The furniture was shrouded in dropcloths, giving it an even spookier appearance than the dining room. Heavy drapes hung crookedly on tarnished brass curtain rods, and the fireplace held only long-cold ashes in the grate. The marble mantelpiece was chipped, half of it missing as thieves had managed to cart away some of it.

“This room gives me the creeps,” muttered Homer.

Red couldn’t disagree. The house was definitely on the creepy side, especially if you considered the history of the place.

The lightning flashed again, accompanied by a thunderous crack. Red jumped and heard Homer yelp.

“Whew, that was something, huh, Homer? Homer?” Red flashed the light around but he didn’t see anyone. “Homer! _Homer!”_

Red continued calling as he searched. Shaken, he decided to get Charles and Pete to help him look. He hurried through the foyer and burst into the kitchen.

Empty.

“Pete! Charles! Damnit, don’t play games with me! I gotta find Homer!”

He ran a hand through his strawberry hair in frustration.

& & & & & &

Johnny played the light along the corridor and the photographs/paintings. “Hmm, grim-lookin’ bunch.”

“Most Victorians were, at least in photographs. They had to stay still with the old-fashioned cameras for several minutes.”

“That makes sense.”

Johnny’s hand was warm in Mel’s grasp. It lent him a sense of security, not to mention engaging his affections. A small smile played around Mel’s lips. Johnny was a very protective man, and Mel appreciated it. It had been a very long time since anyone had cared enough to play mother hen.

“We’ve already checked out the room at the end of the hall. Better investigate the others.” Mel jumped slightly at the loud crack of thunder and flash of lightning, Johnny tightening his grip on Mel’s hand.

“Wow, guess that storm got here after all,” Johnny drawled.

“Yeah.” Mel froze. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah.” Johnny frowned. “Sounded like moaning.”

Mel glanced out the window. “Wha…?” He went closer and went cold as he saw something…or someone…dangling from the old oak tree in the backyard. Johnny cursed softly as he looked, too. 

“Homer! _Homer!”_

Mel and Johnny whirled. “That’s Red!” Johnny said. They unclasped hands and Johnny began to run, Mel keeping up with him. At the top of the stairs, Johnny called down, “Red! What’s goin’ on?”

Red was nowhere to be seen. Cursing softly, Johnny tugged Mel along as they clambered down the stairs, heading toward the kitchen.

“Red! Where are you?”

Johnny and Mel stopped at the entrance, the lightning illuminating the kitchen.

Red stood by the stove, despair on his handsome face. A small pool of light shone on the floor from his flashlight as he held it loosely.

“Red, where’s Homer?”

Red looked at his old friend. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone? And where’s Pete and Charles?”

“Gone! Pffft! Vanished into thin air!” Red gesticulated wildly.

Mel swallowed. “There must be secret passageways. Old houses like this always had them. We should check…” 

He got no further when a blood-curdling scream was punctuated by an earsplitting clap of thunder, lightning flashing as the air crackled with electricity. The hair on the back of Mel’s neck stood on end.

“Come on!” Johnny said.

The three of them barreled up the stairs, Mel skidding to a halt, nearly knocking Johnny off his feet.

“Darlin’, what…?”

Mel pointed down the hall.

Johnny and Red’s eyes widened as they saw a luminous patch of light drifting from one room to the other at the end of the hall.

“What the fuck?” Red muttered.

“Guess we’d better investigate,” murmured Johnny, sounding extremely reluctant.

Mel squeezed his hand and stepped forward.

Dawn at the end of the hall, they could see nothing. The room opposite the one in which Officer O’Grady had been found was another bedroom, but there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary.

“I don’t like this,” Red muttered. “A house with so many murders in it, not to mention insanity, is bad news. If we had all our people I’d say we should high-tail it outta here.”

“That’s what we’ll do when we find the boys.” Johnny’s voice grew soft. “Homer will be all right, Red.”

Red rubbed his eyes. “Sure hope so. Homer was already as skittish as the proverbial cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.”

“Can’t say as I blame him,” Mel said quietly. “I…I’m sorry this happened, helping me out.” Johnny squeezed his hand.

Red shook his head. “Now I see why Johnny was so deadset against you comin’ here alone.” Red smiled a little. “’Sides, you do for us, so we do for you.”

Mel felt gratitude and pride at being included in Johnny’s tight little circle. “We’ll find him.”

Red’s expression of gratitude was illuminated by a flash of lightning just as another horrifying shriek echoed downstairs. 

The three men rushed back downstairs, the sounds of loud bumps and chains rattling filling their ears as they dashed back into the kitchen.

Nothing.

“Damnit!” Johnny growled. He turned and his eyes widened.

Red was gone.

Johnny and Mel stared at the empty space behind them, then Johnny erupted.

“What the _hell_ is goin’ on?!”

“I don’t know.” Mel’s jaw clenched. “But I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.”

“We can’t go around runnin’ half-cocked anymore.”

“Exactly.”

Mel started to tug Johnny out into the foyer when he suddenly began to shiver as the temperature dropped precipitously. Johnny was shaking, too.

“Let’s get out of here!”

They left the kitchen quickly and crossed the foyer to the front door.

“Argh!” Johnny flexed his hand. “The door won’t budge!”

Mel tried next but got the same results. He turned around and felt faint. “Look!”

Johnny turned and paled.

A wispy apparition glided down the main staircase, a woman dressed in clothing fashionable twenty years ago. Something dark was spattered across the bodice of her hobble skirt, Mel swallowing nervously.

Neither man spoke, watching the apparition with equal parts mesmerization and fear. The ghostly vision floated above the parquet floor, then vanished in the shadows.

“There is something rotten in the state of Denmark,” Johnny growled.

Mel almost laughed hysterically in agreement. He could feel Johnny’s hand shake.

“Something is certainly going on.”

“Well, there is no way we are separating.”

Mel smiled slightly. “Absolutely.”

A light mist began to drift through the foyer, and it also come down the staircase. Mel hoped it was coming in through broken windows. If not…

Johnny staggered slightly.

“Johnny?”

“Mmm, Sunshine, I’m a little dizzy.”

“Wha…?” Suddenly, Mel felt the same. He stumbled, and Johnny drew him close as loud moans and rattling chains overwhelmed him as blackness claimed him.


	7. Luminescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel and Johnny get answers about the strange happenings in the House at 1313 Maple Street…or do they?

_Cries of  
The damned  
Echo,  
Spattered   
With blood,  
Crimson.  
The House   
Holds its secrets  
Close,  
And never lets   
Those who enter  
Go._

  


**Allison Long  
"The House On Maple Street"   
1926 C.E.**

Mel groaned as he came back to consciousness. His head was throbbing and his mouth tasted like cotton. His eyes felt irritated, and when he opened them, fear gripped him as he saw only blackness. Was he blind?

“Johnny?” he rasped, feeling around for his lover. “Where are you?”

_For that matter, where am I?_

He clamped down on his rising panic. He had to keep it together. He was a Special Agent of the Bureau Of Investigation.

And John Dillinger’s man.

Both titles meant something to him. He wanted to be worthy of both.

He just wasn’t sure that haunted houses were your average complication.

Mel crawled, hesitant to put his hands where he couldn’t see, but he only felt concrete.

_I must be in the basement._

“Johnny?” he called again. A groan answered him this time. “Johnny!” He bumped into a body. He quickly felt for injuries but found none.

“M…Mel?”

“Right here, darlin’.” Mel found Johnny’s head. “Oh, that’s a nasty bump you’ve got on the back of your noggin.”

“Did someone hit me?” Confusion filled Johnny’s voice.

“Maybe, but I think we were the victim of a gas attack.”

“Gas attack?”

Mel nodded even though Johnny probably couldn’t see him. He helped his lover sit up.

“Some experiments at Bureau headquarters used gas.”

“Won’t that scorch our lungs?!”

“It’s not the World War I mustard gas. Just knocks you out and causes your eyes to water.” He rubbed his own eyes. “Can you…can you see anything?”

“It’s black as pitch in here!”

Relieved, Mel realized that he wasn’t blind. “Yes, I know.”

“You okay?”

“My eyes are still tearing, and I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“I’ve got a _helluva_ headache.”

Mel chuckled. “Tell me how you really feel, suh.”

He could practically feel Johnny’s smile in the darkness.

”I feel that this place is enough to put anyone in a padded cell.”

“Yes.” Mel sobered. “Strange goings-on.”

“Is Red here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are we?”

“The basement, I believe.”

“What’s that thumping noise?”

Mel could here it, too, a steady _thump! thump! thump!_

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s crawl toward it.” A few moments of silence, then Johnny cried, “I see some light!”

“I do, too.”

A thin sliver of light showed at the bottom of a door. Mel stood, fumbling for a light switch but found nothing.

“That sound…” Johnny said thoughtfully.

“What?” Mel pressed his ear to the door. All he could hear was the muffled thumping.

Johnny snapped his fingers. “Counterfeiting!”

“Footsteps!”

“What?”

“Someone’s coming!”

Mel stepped back just in time to avoid being hit by the door as it swung open.

Both men blinked as light flooded the room, a dark, hulking figure looming in the center.

“How are you gentlemen?” rumbled the figure.

“Curious, bud. What’s goin’ on?” Johnny asked, standing slightly in front of Mel. Mel almost smiled. Thugs were Johnny’s territory, apparently.

“Come on out, fellas, and we’ll show ya the whole operation.”

Mel knew what that meant, but he wanted to find out all he could, and maybe he and Johnny could get away before they were fitted for cement overshoes, though admittedly it might not be a Syndicate operation.

Johnny had been right. A huge machine for pressing counterfeit money was set up in the basement, the plates being stamped down into the fake paper.

There other men were in the basement, one working the press, one taking out the freshly-pressed bills, and the third watching Johnny and Mel as he snapped gum, dressed sharply in an expensive dark-brown suit and vest, a diamond stickpin in his tie. Italian leather shoes were shined, his fedora at an angle, shadowing his eyes. He was shaved but had a shadow, indicating a tendency toward a heavy beard that required frequent shaving.

 _Looks Syndicate to me_ , Mel thought. _Maybe one of Nitti’s boys_.

“My, my, my, Carlo, we’re bein’ graced with the heavy hitters,” said the dapper man to the big man.

“Huh?”

The dapper man snapped his gum. His hands were in his jacket pockets and he removed one, a diamond pinky ring glinting in the harsh lighting from a bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling.

“We got us Mr. Jackrabbit Johnny himself. Hello, Mr. Dillinger.”

“Hello, Mister…?”

“Antonio Marcotti. My friends call me Tony.”

“Sweet little operation you’ve got here, Tony.”

Tony looked at Mel. “Carlo, we got us another big fish. Hoover’s pet! What’s the No. 1 G-Man doin’ hangin’ out with the No. 1 Public Enemy?”

Mel knew they were in trouble, but said, “I’m investigating what happened to Officer Joseph O’Grady.”

“Don’t know ‘im.”

Anger surged through Mel. “The young man who wound up in Collinwood Asylum after you scared him literally out of his mind!” Fists balled, he took a step forward. Carlo stepped toward Mel, and Johnny put a hand on his lover’s arm.

“You’ve got quite an imagination, Agent Purvis.”

“You did all the ghostly moanings and apparitions and chain rattlings to keep people away from this place!”

“We’ve made noises, yes.”

Johnny squeezed Mel’s arm slightly. “Tony, where are my boys?”

“Comfortable. Better to keep them in their accommodations for now.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “Are they all right?”

“They’re fine, Johnny.”

“So, how about lettin’ my gang in for a piece of the action?”

Tony laughed. “You got _chutzpah_ , Johnny-boy, I’ll give ya that.”

“Hey, seems like a good deal. Safer than robbin’ banks.”

“And keepin’ you and your boys alive.” Tony adjusted his tie. “And your No. 1 boy.” He cocked his head. “Are you payin’ this boy off, Johnny? Bet old J. Edgar would be interested in hearin’ ‘bout this, eh?” 

Johnny’s smile was easy, but Mel could sense the anger beneath it. His man didn’t take kindly to threats to one of his own.

“Or maybe it’s not greasin’ the palm, so to speak.” Tony’s eyes glittered in the shadow of his fedora. “Maybe it’s more... _personal?”_ Mel felt his body tense as his heart sank. “That it, Jackrabbit? You been greasin’ something’ else with this pretty piece of Southern sweet pecan pie?”

Johnny’s muscles tensed but he kept his face bland. “You’ve got quite an imagination, Tony.” He smiled, Mel recognizing its deadly quality.

“Oh, I don’t know. You were pretty chummy with Pretty Boy here, holdin’ hands and getting’ all gooey-eyed at each other. What about it, Johnny-boy? Is Pretty Purvis really good in bed? Bet he spreads his legs and lets you pound away, hmm? Or do you bend him over the kitchen table and just fuck his brains out?”

Johnny growled, “Why don’t you just shut your mouth?”

Tony laughed mirthlessly. “Hit a nerve, eh?”

Mel put a hand on Johnny’s arm, feeling the coiled muscles. Tony laughed again.

“Your rep’s gonna suffer, Dillinger. Who wants to admire a _finnochio*_?”

Johnny snarled but Mel held him back. “You’re a guttermouth, Tony.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m not the one fuckin’ a man, Jackrabbit.” 

Mel felt his headache worsen as the press continued its interminable thumping. They seemed to be in cadence.

“Why don’t you keep your nose outta my sex life?” asked Johnny, his voice silky but deadly.

Tony snorted. “Believe me, _finnochio_ , nothin’ would make me happier.” He adjusted his cufflink. “So, who’s the _busone**_ in the relationship?”

Johnny ignored the jab. “Sure you wouldn’t want to go halfies with me and my gang, Tony?”

“I’ll see what Frank says to that.”

Mel hoped that he wouldn’t. Frank Nitti and the Syndicate were trouble, plain and simple.

“So, what’s next? Trick-or-treating? Halloween ball? Séance?” Johnny asked.

“Wow, guess the papers were right. You _are_ witty.”

“The newshounds get it right once in while.”

Tony twisted his pinky ring with long, slow strokes. Mel felt distinctly uncomfortable as he felt the gangster’s eyes on him. Johnny edged closer to his side.

Tony smirked. “You nancy boys sure are nervous nellies.”

“How long do you think you can get away with this, suh?” Mel asked. “You have already attracted attention with your terrorizing of that young police officer.”

“I _toldja_ I don’t know what you’re yammerin’ about with that copper. Carlo, shut up our pretty G-Man here.”

Carlo advanced toward Mel, who took an involuntary step back. Johnny scowled and moved to stand in front of Mel, not caring about Tony’s sneering. To hell with the Syndicate man’s prejudices. Johnny’s first priority was keeping Mel safe. Secondly, keep that beautiful face un-bruised!

Mel appreciated the gesture. It didn’t bother him to be the protected, because he knew he could be the protector in the next minute. It all balanced out.

Tony opened his mouth to sneer again when the door to the next room opened and Johnny’s gang burst in, waving their guns around.

“Well, now,” Johnny said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “’Pears the cement overshoe is on the other foot.”

Tony swore in Italian and Red came up to Johnny. “You two all right?”

“Just fine.” Johnny looked over his friend's shoulder. "Everyone else?"

"Fine.”

"I'm gonna kill those _goombahs_ for lettin' you guys get the drop on 'em!" Tony clenched his fists.

Johnny strutted toward Tony. "Let me just say, Tony-boy, that I'm not sure Frank would be happy that you were plannin' to knock us all off. Especially including a Federal agent whose disappearance would being down the heat." 

Tony spat, “Doubt Hoover would care about a pansy agent!”

Johnny chuckled. He knew as well as Mel about Hoover’s ‘secret’.

“Well, I’d say he wants all of his agents to remain untouched. And there are friends of ours…” Johnny indicated his gang “…who would want revenge. I don’t think Frank would like the heat.”

“You’re a prick, Dillinger”

“Wow, witty comeback, Tony. Let’s see…”

All hell broke loose. The rest of Tony’s gang appeared and someone shot out the light. Curses and blows sounded in the dark, no one stupid enough to fire their guns. At least, not at first.

Flashes of gunpowder lit up the darkness and men yelled in pain. Mel didn’t know who was shooting, but he didn’t care. He could feel Johnny still close to him and grabbed his sleeve, pushing him down.

“Sunshine…”

“We’ve gotta get to the door!”

There was a door to the next room, another to their own room where they’d been held prisoner, and the stairs heading up. Mel judged the stairs too risky in the dark, so he wanted to try for a doorway.

“Mel, I gotta…!”

“…get your head blown off? Come on!”

Johnny allowed Mel to drag him along as they crawled, hopefully below any flying bullets. Mel was glad that Johnny wasn’t fighting him. He wanted to be with his men, but the best way to help them was to stay alive and see if they could find a flashlight or something to illuminate the darkness.

Suddenly the temperature dropped in the room, chilling Mel’s bones. The damp smell of the basement was stronger as he shivered, feeling Johnny do the same. It was the smell of damp earth, of a grave freshly-dug. 

Screams assaulted his ears as his breath came out in small puffs like it was a frigid Chicago winter morning. Terror crept up into his heart, his body shaking as he felt an overwhelming urge to flee.

“What the hell?” Johnny whispered.

“I don’t know.” Mel’s voice sounded strangled.

They scrambled into the short hallway between the rooms, Johnny grabbing a discarded flashlight from the floor.

“C’mon, let’s go back.”

Everything screamed at Mel not to, but he couldn’t leave Johnny’s men to some strange fate. “Right behind you,” he rasped.

The shooting and screaming had stopped by the time Mel and Johnny got back to the larger part of the basement. Johnny shone the light inside.

Mel gasped, grabbing Johnny’s arm.

The bodies of the Syndicate gang were strewn around the cement floor, blood bright crimson on their shirts and pants.

“Red! Homer!’ Johnny rushed toward his friends, who were sitting dazedly against the wall. “You guys all right?” 

Red rubbed his forehead. “I guess so. At least we’re not shot.”

Homer moaned, clutching his shoulder. Mel checked him out.

“Looks like you’ll have a large bruise, but you’re okay.”

“Pete! Charles!” Johnny called.

“Over here!” Pete answered.

Johnny went over to his other men, using the flashlight.

“I’ll see if I can reach the door at the top of the stairs and let in some light,” Mel said, cautiously starting up the stairs. The musty smell of the basement mingled with the strong, iron-tinged smell of blood.

He missed a step, biting back a cry of pain as his knee impacted with the sharp edge of the step. He reached the top, fumbling around for the doorknob. Finding it, he pushed it ajar.

A strange luminescence drifted down the hall. Mel resolutely turned away, shutting the door firmly.

“Found a bulb, Mel!” called Red.

Gratefully, Mel went down the stairs as fast as he dared, gritting his teeth as his knee throbbed. 

The lightbulb was switched on, and Mel wished for the darkness again.

“What a bloodbath,” Red murmured.

Johnny’s gang stared down at the Syndicate bodies. Some had been shot, but others looked as if they’d been sliced to ribbons.

“How could they be hacked up like that?” Pete asked. “Bullets don’t do that.”

“I dunno,” Johnny said. He looked a little green around the gills. He took hold of Mel’s icy hand, his own hand cold. “Let’s get outta here, boys.”

Everyone was happy to follow Johnny’s suggestion. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 _*Finnochio_ —(Italian slang)--Derogatory term for homosexual.

 _**Busone_ —(Italian slang)—The passive recipient in a gay relationship.


	8. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is wrapped up at the House at 1313 Maple Street…or is it?

_Bloodstained,  
Blood-drained,  
The House   
On Maple Street  
Will never  
Give up  
Its secrets._

  


**Allison Long  
"The House On Maple Street"   
1926 C.E.**

“God, these vermin are butchers.”

Captain Sean Kelly looked down in disgust at the hacked-up bodies strewn on the basement floor. The coroner and other cops were working around the room, flashbulbs popping as pictures were being taken of the grisly scene.

Mel stood next to Kelly, his hands in his greatcoat pockets. He not wanted to come back here, but there was the matter of several dead bodies and a counterfeiting operation to shut down. He just wished that the smell of blood wasn’t so strong.

“They must have fallen out amongst themselves.”

Mel hated to lie, but since he’d fallen in love with Johnny, it was no longer relevant to do the Boy Scout routine.

Kelly snorted. “Wouldn’t be surprised. These gangsters are just cheap thugs despite their nice clothes. Greedy as all hell, too.”

“Yes.” Mel felt a stab of guilt. His Johnny was quite capable of violence, especially in a fight with other gangsters, but not all the men he’d come to know were just mindless thugs. “Though maybe it was more of a dispute over territory.”

“Still greed fuelin’ it, bucko.” The captain’s slight brogue grew a little thicker.

“Wow, they not only shot each other, they stabbed each other,” commented the coroner.

“Funny, I see guns and spent bullets all around but no knives,” observed one of the officers.

“Weird,” Kelly muttered.

Mel silently agreed. He shivered under his greatcoat, wishing he could get out of here, but the Director wanted a Bureau presence on this case, and Mel couldn’t send Carter or Charles or Sam into this place. He was determined to see this through to the end.

“I wonder if poor Joey will be all right now.” Kelly removed his cap and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

Uneasily Mel said, “I’m not sure. Joey has been sent to a place in his mind that I’m not sure he can come back from.”

Kelly sighed. “’Tis a shame, for sure.” He put his cap back on and his hands on his hips as he barked, “O’Toole! Careful of that evidence! Argh, rookies!”

Mel smiled a little. “I guess this’ll be a wrap-up, eh, Captain?”

“For sure, Mr. Purvis. Your Bureau, too. Imagine you findin’ these scoundrels when tryin’ to help our fine Joey.”

“Yes, well, do you need me anymore, Captain?”

“No, you can go, Mr. Purvis. I’ll want to see you for some follow-up. I’ll be in touch.” 

“Of course. Here’s my direct line.” Mel handed Kelly his card.

Mel was glad to leave this room of death and walked up the stairs to the dark hall. He crossed the foyer with an increasingly-quickening stride, heart hammering as he thought he heard whispers and scratching sounds, something flickering out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, stepping out onto the veranda with a huge sigh of relief as he shut the door firmly behind him.

Darkness was falling, Mel turning up his collar against the biting wind. Leaves skittered down the sidewalk as clouds blocked the rising moon.

A man stepped out of the shadows, startling Mel. Was it a plainclothes detective?

The rakish fedora and expensive greatcoat, allied with the confident way the man moved, made his identity known.

“Johnny!” Mel hissed, quickly looking over his shoulder. “You’re taking a big risk!”

White teeth gleamed in the darkness. “Risk adds spice to life, dontcha think?” He chuckled as he climbed up onto the veranda. “Besides, if you think I’m lettin’ you come to this house again without me, you’ve got another think comin’.” Johnny linked his arm through Mel’s. “Chicago’s Finest wrappin’ things up?”

“Yeah. Captain Kelly wondered if Joey O’Grady would recover now.” Mel frowned as they stepped off the veranda. “I don’t see how Joey could have been so traumatized by the spook show the Syndicate put on. I mean, all that mist and apparitions must have been faked by the Mob, right?”

“Seems logical,” Johnny drawled.

Mel took a deep breath. “Tony said they didn’t know about Joey. They made noises like chains rattling and moaning, but they never copped to…well…”

“So they say, Sunshine, so they say.”

Mel had to admit that Tony hadn’t been the most honest guy around. If he was bothered by the ghostly apparitions, unexplained drops in temperature, and the violence in the basement, he studiously ignored such thoughts.

He and Johnny walked down the weed-choked path to the front gates, not looking back toward the house at 1313 Maple Street, a ghostly face at an upper window staring out at the retreating men. An arm lifted, the moon coming out from behind the clouds, its light glinting off a long, bloodstained knife. 

The wind moaned through the trees as Mel and Johnny walked down windswept Maple Street.


End file.
